never have a friend like me
by potahtopotato
Summary: Deamus fluff! (There will be angst, but then there is always angst).
1. Chapter 1

"I wish they'd just break up," Seamus says, and is met with a chorus of agreement.

They're in the Gryffindor boy's dormitory, all five of them- him, Harry, Hermione, Neville, and Parvati. The girls had been invited up to play Gobstones and lament their pathetic, single existences away from the younger students in the common room, but the game has since devolved into them sitting (well, mainly laying) on the floor sadly and occasionally trying to make conversation.

"We're so pathetic," Hermione sighs. She's been doing a lot of that lately. "Just so pathetic."

Again, there's a general consensus. They are all pathetic. It's Valentine's Day, for god's sake, and they're not even drinking or eating copious amounts of ice cream.

"Speak for yourself," Neville says, looking up from his Herbology book. He's the only one of the group not immensely disappointed with his life, for whatever reason. Seamus can't figure the bloke out; sixteen years old and single, and he doesn't seem at all upset. He considers asking him about it, but it's easier to fall back into brooding, and anyway he's not sure how Neville would respond to a question like that.

Harry stands up, for whatever reason. "We should do something," he says. "We're- I defeated a Dark Lord, it can't possibly be that hard to get a date with Ginny Weasley."

"Ginny Weasley who has a boyfriend?" Parvati asks, not bothering to open her eyes. "Good luck with that."

"I mean, honestly, Won-Won!" Hermione continues a henceforth unspoken diatribe. "What kind of nickname is that?"

"Yes, exactly!" Parvati says. "It's disgusting!"

Harry is still standing, although looking far more dejected after his ignored pep talk. "D'you like Lavender, then?" he asks Parvati, confused.

Parvati rolls her eyes. "No, not like that, but she is my best friend, and I don't like Ron using her."

Hermione's head snaps up. "Ron's using Lavender?" she asks, raising her eyebrows. "Please, the girl hangs onto his side like some kind of desperate squid monster thing."

Seamus tries to stifle a snort at desperate squid monster thing, but judging from Hermione's frown he's unsuccessful.

"Yeah, because he keeps leading her on!" Parvati says, moving to an upright position and gesturing wildly. "This wouldn't be a problem if you just asked him out in the first place!"

"Oh, so it's my fault now, is it?" Hermione's eyes are beginning to gleam dangerously.

"Yes, it is. If you want someone, tell him straight out instead of whining about how lonely you are, it's as simple as that."

"The same way you've told Lavender that you think she should break up with Ron?"

"That's nothing like it! It's none of my business who Lavender dates!"

"Then how is Ron any of mine?"

"Oh, I don't know, because you want to shag him, maybe?"

Hermione grabs at her wand, and Parvati only hesitates a second before mimicking the motion. They glare at each other, and Seamus decides that it's high time to interrupt. They're both highly capable witches, and he rather likes being all in one piece, thankyouverymuch.

"Let's all just agree that Ron and Lavender are not good for each other, alright?" he asks, desperately hoping that the two girls won't turn on him instead. After a tense moment, Hermione nods, and Parvati relaxes as well.

There's a few minutes of quiet as they delve back into their own personal miseries. Harry finally sits down and reaches for one of the few remaining bottles of Butterbeer. Seamus considers offering to open the bottle of Ogden's Firewhiskey he's been saving, but Hermione's a Prefect and he doesn't want to get detention today of all days.

"And the height difference, too," Harry says to no one in particular. "That's gotta be at least, what, half a foot? That's absurd, is what it is."

"Oi!" Seamus says as Neville bursts out laughing. "What's wrong with a height difference?"

Harry grins. "Sorry," he says, shrugging and not looking at all sorry, which is a bit much coming from someone who's shorter than Seamus's mum. To be fair, Seamus is also shorter than Seamus's mum, but that's largely irrelevant.

"Speaking of Dean," Seamus says, at which point Parvati groans loudly. "What?"

"You're always speaking of Dean," she says, but Seamus refuses to take the bait. He considers taking the he's-my-best-mate defense, but is pretty sure that it won't go down well, so he just decides to ignore her.

"Yes, well, speaking of Dean, I'm telling him we had an orgy, I refuse to say we sat here and were too sad even to play gobstones. That alright with you lot?"

Hermione sputters, but Harry and Parvati nod as though this is a great idea, and Neville shrugs.

"Right, then."

There are another couple minutes of silence, during which Seamus takes the opportunity to plan out a few details of their presumed fake orgy.

"I wish they'd just break up," he finally says, and is treated to a round of heavy sighs.

"You're all pathetic," Neville says definitively. "I'm going to get lunch."


	2. Chapter 2

It had started out with, as usual, an insult. Dean had called Seamus a leprechaun, and Seamus had pointed out that if you were an overgrown troll everyone seemed small to you, it was all perspective really, and then Dean had swatted Seamus on the back of his head and things had quickly devolved from there.

Which is why Dean is now sitting on top of Seamus, grinning widely and looking incredibly proud of his victory.

"You're about a foot taller than me, mate," Seamus says, laughing (difficult though that is with a sixteen-year old boy on his chest). "Don't see why you're so surprised every time."

Dean shrugs. "Leprechauns, you know. It's hard to pin them down, the sneaky little buggers."

"Oi!"

Seamus tries to think of a retort, but his brain and fine-motor skills appear to no longer be functioning. Dean is smiling at him, and Seamus suddenly realizes just how close they are. He would need to lift his head just the slightest bit, and they would be kissing, and then- well. And then Dean would shove him away in disgust, and their friendship would be irreparably ruined for ever and ever, all because Seamus couldn't keep his hands to himself.

Seamus suddenly feels queasy. "I've got to go," he says, trying to prop himself up on his elbows and muttering "thanks" as Dean moves off of him.

"You alright?" Dean asks, and Seamus nods and tries not to throw up. If Dean knew, he- well, he certainly wouldn't hate him; Seamus knows his best friend well enough to know that. But there'd be none of this easy comfort, none of the small touches and wrestling matches. There'd be a barrier here, and Seamus doesn't think he could take that.

Seamus can imagine the scene, has imaged the scene again and again, and he doesn't want to be sick all over Dean so he nods and gets up and leaves.

He goes to the Quidditch pitch, because even if he's not on the team he still loves to fly, and in the air there's no worrying about stupid, unrequited crushes on your best mate or the ever-approaching war. There's only the wind in your ears and the weak March sunlight on your face, and if you fall and get hurt it's the kind of wounds that can be mended with a spell, a potion, and a day in bed.


	3. Chapter 3

"I think we should break up," Dean says, and the curtains catch on fire. He extinguishes them with a wave of his hand; it's the one wandless spell he can do and the first nonverbal one he learned.

"Sorry?" Seamus asks. "Because I thought you said we should break up, and―"

"I did," Dean says, and gets up to put his plate away. "Are you done with that?"

"Done with what?"

"Your food." Dean gestures to Seamus' plate.

"Did you say we should break up?"

"Yes, I did." Dean doesn't want to look at Seamus, so he looks at his plate instead, and spends an inordinate amount of time placing it in the sink.

"Why?" Seamus's voice sounds strangled.

Dean's written this speech a thousand times in his head, but it's never sounded right and it doesn't sound right now either. "I don't think it's working out," he says. He still isn't looking at Seamus, and he doesn't know what to do with his hands. Somehow, during all the times he rehearsed this moment, he never considered what he should do with his hands.

"That's all?" Seamus asks, voice rising in pitch. "It's not working out? We've been together for almost three years, and you don't think it's working out?"

"I just don't think this relationship is what either of us needs right now. It's not―the problem isn't you, it's not me, it's just the circumstances at the moment. Which aren't―" Dean grasps for a word "―favorable. Currently."

"Did you cheat on me?" The question is quiet, as though Seamus doesn't quite want to know the answer.

"What?" Dean is so startled he turns around. Seamus is still sitting with his back to him, but his back has gone ramrod-straight, and he's not touching his food.

"Well, did you?"

"No, I―of course I didn't cheat on you!"

"You're a horrible liar, you know that?" Seamus asks, getting up as well.

"Which is why it's a good thing I'm not fucking lying!"

"Okay," Seamus says, relaxing his shoulders slightly. "Okay. I had to be sure."

"Why was that even something you thought?" Dean asks. He debates putting Seamus's plate in the sink as well; it doesn't look like it's going to be getting much use.

"Oh, please." Seamus gives a shaky laugh. "Long-distance boyfriend breaks up with you, isn't that the first thing you think? Plus, Paris. All those fantastic-looking girls and all."

Dean has no idea how to reply to that. "Right, well. I didn't cheat."

"Just got bored of me, then?"

"Shay, have you heard a single word I've been saying? When was the last time we saw each other? What was it, November? That was months ago! For fuck's sake, we didn't even meet up for Christmas!" Dean's not quite sure when all of this anger had built up, but now that it's out it feels oddly amazing.

"I was busy!"

"Exactly."

"So you're breaking up with me because I couldn't miss an assessment at St. Mungo's just so we could shag on Boxing Day."

"No, I'm breaking up with you because―" Dean cuts himself off. He pulls out his chair and lowers himself into it. "Look, I don't want to have a huge fight over this. Neither of us has the time, or the money, or the willpower for a long-distance relationship right now. We both know this was going to go on until someone broke and cheated."

Seamus opens his mouth to protest, and Dean stops him with a pointed look. "Let me just say this. I care about you, alright? And I don't want―this isn't going to end well. So it's not my fault if I realized before you did, or you realized and didn't say, or whatever."

Dean is suddenly exhausted. He wants to snog Seamus, not break up with him, but they've let it go on too long, this farce of a relationship, and he knows that the longer the wound festers the worse it'll get.

"I'll go pack my things," he says, and then he's jumping back and reaching for his wand because the entire kitchen table has just gone up in flames, and he yells _Aguamenti_ and the flames sputter out and all that's left is Seamus, standing sopping wet in the middle of the kitchen and it should've been funny but it isn't in the slightest.

"You're so full of shit," Seamus says, mouth twisting. "You're so fucking―you know, you probably would've cheated, too, but this makes more sense. Wouldn't be the first time you run away from your problems."

It's a low blow, and they both know it, especially considering all the time Seamus has spent reassuring Dean that his decisions during the war had been the right thing to do. It hurts, though, hurts all the more because Seamus knew exactly what those words meant and had said them anyway.

"At least I'm not a bloody child," he says. "You can't even control your own magic! Most people stop doing accidental magic when they're eleven, and you're, what, twenty years old and still lighting things on fire?"

They'd never really fought before, not like that. Suffice it to say that when he finally makes it to the Leaky Cauldron, his throat is raw from yelling and his heart feels like it's been pounded into many, many pieces. He stops by the bar, says hello to Hannah, and somehow makes it into the room the Longbottoms keep reserved for their friends.

He falls onto the bed without undressing and lies there for the next few hours, wondering who the hell came up with the myth of the friendly breakup, and more importantly, whether he's just ruined the single most important relationship of his life.


	4. Chapter 4

It's for the drawing, Dean tells himself. It needs to be as accurate as possible. And how can a drawing of Seamus look even remotely realistic if he has the wrong number of freckles?

Which is why he's sitting on a couch in the common room with Seamus's head on his lap, studying Seamus' face intently. Seamus fell asleep there, and Dean didn't want to wake him up, and his drawing pad and pencil were within easy reach, and, in short, the opportunity has been thoroughly seized.

Dean is currently on freckle number 126.

 _127,_

 _128,_

 _129._

Seamus mutters something and rolls over, and Dean loses his place. Damn. Guess he'll have to start all over again and spend even more time in close proximity to Seamus, which is clearly terrible and not at all his intent.

Sometimes Dean wonders who, exactly, he is trying to fool.

 _3,_

 _4,_

 _5._

Dean is doing this methodically. He starts on the left side of Seamus's face and works his way right. It's a great plan, except at one point he has to stop and examine Seamus's nose to determine how light a spot can be before it is no longer considered a freckle, and by the time he decides he has no idea where he left off.

 _221,_

 _222,_

 _223._

The drawing is coming along nicely when Dean stops to wonder whether what he's doing is, well, right. After all, he and Seamus aren't dating (not yet, anyway), so this… well, it's rather intrusive; Dean tries to imagine how he would feel if he fell asleep in the common room and woke up with Seamus crouching over him. He stops this train of thought immediately (because it's leading nowhere good) and decides that he's not doing anything wrong. He's just drawing his mate; friends are allowed to draw friends, aren't they?

 _57,_

 _58,_

 _59._

Dean's almost done with his work. He wonders absentmindedly about the Nile river and how fun it would be to go to Africa with Seamus someday.

 _189,_

 _190,_

 _191—_

Seamus wakes up with a yawn, and Dean quickly pulls away.

"What're you doing?" Seamus asks, blinking up at him. Dean loves it when he's half asleep, voice a little raspy and accent thicker than usual. Not, you know, in a gay way, just because it's adorable. In the straightest sense of the word. Yes.

"Just sketching," Dean says as Seamus reaches for the drawing.

Seamus sits up and continues to examine the page. He frowns a little, then turns to Dean. "This is really good," he says, and Dean waits, because you don't spend a full two minutes looking at a drawing just to say that it's really good. "Listen, don't take this the wrong way, but do you fancy me?"

"What?" Dean snatches the paper away. "It's just a drawing, Shay. Quit jumping to conclusions."

Dean knows he's a terrible liar, and he can feel himself blushing, but he hopes Seamus will leave well enough alone. Not that he ever does, of course.

"That's a yes, then. You fancy me, don't you?"

Well, it was only a matter of time, and if this totally destroys their friendship at least Dean will be able to say that it wasn't entirely his fault. Dean nods.

Seamus grins, relief splashed across his features. "Oh, thank god."

What?

He must look confused, because Seamus adds, "Well, far as I can tell all of Hogwarts knows I've been in love with you for years, and when you didn't say anything about it I thought you just didn't want to—"

What?

Dean feels couch armrest digging into his back. It seems like the realest thing about this moment. "I thought I was pretty obvious," Dean says. "I mean, I practically asked you out to Hogsmeade, and—"

"I didn't know that was a date!"

They stare at each other. The corner of Seamus's mouth quirks up, and Dean can feel his doing the same.

 _1_ , Dean counts,

 _2,_

 _3_ —

He never reaches four.


	5. Chapter 5

There is something timeless about the Astronomy Tower. Hogwarts is built on memories, its halls fluid and constantly changing, adapting to the students and teachers who live within, absorbing petty grudges and lifelong feuds, first crushes and true love.

Dean feels this the way every resident of the castle does: as a presence in the back of his mind, but nothing more. It's only when he stands here, in this tower that flies far above all other spires, that Dean experiences himself being swept up in the wholeness of it.

People have jumped from here, he thinks. They've stood on these stones, looked down, weighed their options, and jumped, because that was better than the alternative. Dean stares at the ground far below, at the freshly sprouted flowers and the young, fragile grass, and wonders how many bones have been broken beneath his feet.

People have jumped, but people have also been pushed. He doesn't know of any stories personally, but of course people have been pushed. Whispers turning to shouts, words spiraling out of control, _Expelliarmus_ or _Diffindo_ , a shove, and—

Dean imagines the scene playing out before his eyes. He's seen enough violence in the past few days that it's not hard to conjure the images, and he fancies he can almost see a figure falling through the early morning light, robes fluttering for the last time.

He could have been that figure. He could be lying in the Great Hall, limbs twisted out of shape by Dark spells and face contorted in a scream that reverberates forever.

Instead he's here, hundreds of feet above the ground, watching pinks and oranges invade a darkened sky. He wishes he still had his sketchbook; it was lost when they were captured by the Snatchers, and Dean would love to be able to capture this moment, this one snapshot of time when he can't hear the crash of rock against rock echoing from deep within the castle as adults and children alike start to rebuild, to reconstruct the walls that were so brutally torn down.

There are still dozens of Death Eaters out there. Too many have been lost, others damaged irreparably. Dean thinks of Luna's haunted eyes, of the scars that marr his chest and back. Of the many more he will doubtless find crisscrossing the skin of those who stayed.

Dean is suddenly lonely. He hasn't slept since before the Battle, and now it's just barely the fourth of May and he is so, so tired. He came up here for some peace and quiet, and he certainly got one, and it was definitely foolish to hope for the other. He wants to go home, though he doesn't know where home is, but he suspects that it's no longer the two-story brick house in Verwood, England.

There are footsteps on the steps, and Dean realizes he's been brooding. Probably a result of spending too much time around Harry; the bloke's alright and all, but far too dramatic.

"Dean? You up there?"

It's Seamus (who else would it be?), and Dean turns away from the parapet. It's almost fully morning by now, and Seamus's blond hair does a nice thing when he steps into the sunlight, which Dean, as an artist, can't help but notice.

"Hey," Seamus says, "you alright? I was looking for you."

"Yeah, I needed some fresh air."

Seamus nods. "Well, I'm going down to breakfast, I've promised McGonagall I'd finish with the library by this afternoon. Wanna come help me out?"

"Yeah, 'course."

Dean can't help but look back before following Seamus down the stairs, though.

Hogwarts is built on memories, after all, and though recent ones have been the anything but pleasant, he can't help but feel that maybe that's about to change. That maybe the damage is unfixable, but sometimes you need to burn down the old to start anew.


End file.
